


Animated

by TheTartWitch



Category: Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Horse Souls are 'Anima', M/M, NO Spirit/Rain, Spirit's feelings, and yes Little Creek does reciprocate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spirit AU where Spirit bonds with Little Creek instead of Rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animated

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a total slacker but hey, it's writing, right? And yes, the ending's kind of ambiguous, but Little Creek does reciprocate his stallion's feelings in the end. It's just not obvious.

When he'd been smaller and younger and not able to run so far so fast he hadn't realized the differences between his horse mother and his two-legged mother. Both had been her, and his coltish mind hadn't felt the need to distinguish any differences.  

But here, in this camp of two-legs and horses with only one shape,staringacross the empty ground to the two-leg man tied like he was, his mother's words became clearer to him: _to them, we are only one, not two, and they can never know they are wrong._  

But that one seems different, somehow. 

 

The escape is unforeseen but not unwelcome. The newest capture even more so. 

 

Little Creek's Rain is an interesting specimen. She tells him of the people, the culture, in the horse language of nudges, head tosses, and whickering, but what confounds him the most is Little Creek, the boy who's convinced her to stay. Her  _anima_ is a pale woman with patches of randomly placed brown, and her hair is long, to her knees, and paler than almost any he's seen before. His mother is the lighter of them still, but it's a close second.  

He changes shape at night to sneak into Little Creek's dreams. He stands in the shadows of the boy's mind and laughs with him, not at him. He has seen himself in pools of water a few times and knows that his own skin is sun-bronzed and golden in the right light, that his hair is long enough to drift aimlessly around his waist and black like coals in the fire-pits of the village. His eyes are a deep muddy color, and his cheekbones are angular and strong. His herd says he is not ugly, but no one outside has ever seen him before, and he catches himself wondering if Little Creek will care what he looks like.  

Little Creek notices him on the fourth night, standing in the shadow of a tall tree with thin green needles. "Who -?" He says, confused, but Spirit turns and disappears into nothingness. The next morning is spent fielding wondering glances from the human, but ultimately, nothing of importance is said.  

The next time the boy sees him, they talk. Or rather, Little Creek talks and Spirit listens. He doesn't miss the boy seems a little distracted and wonders if maybe he's worried about something. Their littles games in thecorralcan't possibly be what's paining him, but Spirit still gives him a hug before leaving.  

The morning breaks on the boy's uncertain smile after that, his eyes studying Spirit's coloring and temperament. They meet more often, and Spirit is slowly charmed. Little Creek is gentle, and intelligent, and fast, and strong when he needs to be. It is no hardship for Spirit to leave a bit of his scent on the boy (and if the sight of Rain's uncertain cantering means anything, she notices), marking him as protected. 

It's the human's move.  

Spirit is rejected.  _I'm not going to be the one to ride you, and no one ever should._ It's cruel, the way he's dismissed, but then, what boy would mate with a stallion? The boy is probably wishing a mare had offered, had scented him. The idea makes Spirit pause and glance back, but Little Creek slaps his rump and he's running before he realizes it.  

He's almost away from the village when he sees her: Rain. He almost zips right past her but for some reason he stops. She gets to be beside his boy, spend the rest of her life with him, and Spirit has just been told to go. He sticks around her for a little, inhaling his boy's scent for a bit of grounding, but then she's turning and staring back at the village with fear in her eyes, and he's running with her, trying not to imagine Little Creek as a smear beneath the feet of the soldiers' boots.  

 

He runs to save Rain from the water not because she's his friend (though that does make it easier to jump in after her), but because the way Little Creek screams at the sight of her washing away tears at his heart.  

When they wash onto the banks after the waterfall he is saddened to see her so weak. She's not allowed to die, he whispers to her,  _you're not allowed to die unless he is safe and has lived a long life. You have to stay for him, Little Creek, my boy; Rain, keep still. Someone will find you._  

And when he's led away by soldiers and taken on another long trek, he remembers the feel of her shocked and heartbroken eyes, following the way his shoulders sag and tremble as the scent of his would-be mate gets farther and farther away, and eventually weakens completely beneath his nose.  

He doesn't see Little Creek's awestruck expression or hear the words that leave his boy's mouth. 

 

The train station is cold, and gives him plenty of time to think. Mostly about his herd and his boy, but thoughts of Rain's health sneak in from time to time. The other horses in the cart serve only as unhelpful reminders of what he's just lost. The snow is the only good thing; it numbs his mind as it numbs his body. Visions of his herd give him the strength to step across the small cart and join the others. 

 

The train was an angering experience. The chains were heavy and the steamer even more so. But it was good for keeping busy. For forgetting.  

The others had released their  _anima_ , letting the air clog with two-legged shapes of all colors and appearances. He let his out too, not minding the camaraderie; these humans saw only as they were wont to do, as they weren't sensitive enough to see anything but horses straining at the restraints.  

When the lines crested the hill he stopped.  _His herd lived in those mountains; this endeavor couldn't be allowed to continue._ Disabling the steamer wasn't even that difficult, and outrunning the fire climbing the walls of the valley was like a sport, an exercise in speed after being chained for so long. The log was at first an annoying setback and then a dangerous one.  

But his boy was there. Saving him again.  

Falling into the river was like taking a leap of faith.  

 

The days playing and camping with his boy were some of the best he'd ever lived. His  _anima_ was out almost constantly, enjoying the view from a human's perspective, but the boy didn't make any indication that he noticed. Not that he would; humans couldn't see  _anima_. And it was a joy running with Little Creek again, no matter the circumstances. 

In the end, the cliff decision cinched it: even if his boy had rejected his mating bond, horses only bonded once. And Spirit had chosen Little Creek. You don’t just leave that behind.  

The celebration is his favorite part. The boy's mind is open in a way it never was before and he marvels at it, letting his  _anima_ pet at the boy's hair and bare shoulders happily. Rain is alive when they reach the village, and he prances with her, restraining his  _anima_ around her because Little Creek is still hers the way he'll never be Spirit's.  

And yeah, he takes Rain back to the herd with him, sad and quiet the whole way, but his mother realizes what he's missing, and she sends him back.  

 

He arrives at night; sleeps on the ground outside his boy's tent and sends his  _anima_ in to walk the boy's dreams, so he's startled when the boy sees him, in the dream, and shakes him with tears in his eyes. "You returned," the boy cries into his shoulder, and he grips the boy's shoulder-blades in his hands and holds his boy closer.  

And if Little Creek's stallion was even more protective than Rain had been, and far more tactile, well, the whole tribe could see the horse's  _anima_ flitting around the boy, tall and strong and silent, without even his animal counterpart's snorts and grunts to give him voice.


End file.
